Blood Wedding Read Online Free PDF

once again, but it feels slower, more menacing now. The guy is calling someone, she is convinced of it. But who? All of a sudden he reappears. He walks towards her but does not go behind the counter; he stops next to her and smiles winningly. He is standing close, very close.
    “Ithink we should be able to accommodate you, Madame Duguet,” he says in a breathy whisper.
    She manages a tense smile. The man does not move. He smiles and stares into her eyes. She does not move either, she carries on smiling. This is what she needs to do. Smile. Respond in kind. He turns and walks away.
    Alone again. 12.06 p.m. She hurries to the door, peers through the metal slats, her taxi is still waiting. She cannot see the driver. The taxi is there, that is all she can be sure of. But she needs to move quickly. Very quickly.
    She has resumed her pose as a customer, leaning casually on the counter, by the time the man re-emerges from his lair. He counts out 5,600 euros. He settles himself in the cashier’s chair, taps at the keyboard. The printer resumes its arduous task. In the meantime, Musain looks at her and smiles. She feels naked. Eventually she signs the withdrawal slip.
    Musain feels the need to offer her a word of advice as he slips the money into a plain brown envelope and proffers it with a self-important air.
    “A young woman like you, a slip of a girl, wandering the streets with all this money, I really shouldn’t let you go alone . . . It’s very dangerous . . .”
    “A slip of a girl”! She cannot believe this man.
    She takes the envelope. It is thick. She is not quite sure what to do with it, stuffs it into the inside pocket of her jacket. Musain looks at her doubtfully.
    “The taxi,” she stammers. “The driver will be waiting outside, he’s probably worried . . . I’ll put it somewhere safe later.”
    “Of course,” Musain says.
    She makes to leave.
    “Wait!”
    Sheturns back, prepared for anything, prepared to lash out, but she sees that he is still smiling.
    “When we’ve locked up you have to go out this way.” He gestures to the door behind him.
    She follows him through the building, down a long narrow corridor to the exit at the end. He fiddles with the locks, the reinforced door slides sideways but does not open fully. Musain is standing in front of her. He’s practically blocking the exit.
    “There you go,” he says.
    “Thank you so much.”
    She does not know what she should do. He is still standing there, smiling.
    “Where are you going, exactly? If you don’t mind me asking.”
    Think of something, quickly, anything. She can tell she is taking too long, that she should have had an answer prepared, but nothing comes.
    “The Midi . . .”
    Her jacket is not quite closed. When she took the money, she zipped it half-way. Musain is staring at her neck.
    “The south . . . Very nice.”
    As he says this, he reaches one hand towards her and gingerly pushes the corner of the envelope a little further inside her jacket. His hand grazes her breast. He says nothing, but his hand lingers. She feels an urge, an overpowering urge, to slap him, but something absolute, something terrible, prevents her. Fear. For a moment it occurs to her that the man could grope her as she stands here, paralysed, and she would say nothing. She desperately needs this money. Is it so obvious?
    ‘Yeah . . .” Musain says, “I’ve always liked the Midi.”
    Hehas withdrawn his hand and is now smoothing the lapel of his jacket.
    “I’m afraid I’m in rather a hurry . . .”
    As she says this she side-steps, making for the door.
    “I understand,” Musain says, inching a fraction to one side.
    She tries to slip past him.
    “Well, have a nice trip, Madame Duguet.” He shakes her hand, holding it a little too long. “See you soon, perhaps?”
    “Thank you.”
    She bursts out onto the street.
    This is the price of fear, being trapped there, unable to move, at the mercy of this slimy bank manager. She feels blind hatred